In the clear of the night
by merick
Summary: A gift fiction. Eric Northman, vampire, is a professor, and he teaches a very special class for a woman who needs his gifts. Pure fluff, don't look for much plot, just put yourself in the scene and enjoy the attention.
1. Chapter 1

This is a gift for a friend who is going through a difficult time now. So she knows she is loved, and valued. It is an off the cuff interlude, apologies for the sentence fragment, and the other less than polished sentences. It just needed to get out there today. Part two will be a little finer.

Merick

There had been enough tears, more than enough by her reckoning, she had to pull it together, and he was not worth the misery she was putting herself through. She was going to get through this night course, and get through this degree and get her butt back to work to support her son and herself and make her new dreams come true. So with a firm grasp on the handle of her laptop bag, and a shudder to straighten her shoulders, she sniffed back the tears and stepped out of the shadows of Masters Hall, and mounted the limestone staircase to get to her lecture hall.

She loved this place, the university was old, and majestic, and full of architectural wonders that were as wonderful to explore in the daytime as they were at night. There was a power around the place that inspired her and filled her with the energy to push her. It was rooted in the history of place, centuries old, some of the buildings, with courtyards that could have been, might actually have been medieval. There were rumors about the place, as there were with all old spaces, about former jousting yards, and a kirkyard, and temple that had been dedicated, not to Christ, but to pursuits more venial. Of course they were likely just rumors. Still, Clare felt a little more romantic and noble every time she entered Master's Hall. As if she were a royal, or a priestess of some ancient religion moving to her tasks. There was no room for tears here.

The hallways were quiet, which was a little unusual, and even though she'd never been in this particular lecture hall, she knew it sat over a hundred students: though she didn't see anyone else around. Nervous, she checked her watch again, but the time was correct, just before 7pm, there were still lectures at 7 pm, even in the winter sessions. Then she began to worry that her watch was slow and that she was very late, so she hastened her pace to reach the solid oaken doors that led into the hall.

Pausing, she listened, but again there was no noise, and now, beyond curious as to what was going on she opened the door and looked inside. It was as magical as she had imagined it would be. There were iron braces for torches in the wall, even if what they held were electric now a days, and the seats weren't individual chairs with flip up side tables, they were rows and rows of carved benches, polished till they shone by decades, perhaps centuries of use. The whole place looked warm, the way the light reflected off the paneling and the wood, nothing seemed incongruous or out of place. There wasn't even a projector screen on the dais, just a lectern, and a blackboard, and a man, standing behind the lectern, in all the space of the hall, not looking small even though alone, looking as grand as all the atmosphere. He wore full black academic robes that fell to mid calf, and a hood, thrown over his shoulders with the scarlet trim that betrayed his degree in theology. But it wasn't that majesty that caught Clare's breath in her throat, it was his face, and his blond hair, and the long fingers that leafed through sheaves of paper. He was a god, or should have been. Everything was perfect; eyes hooded by symmetrical brows that cast shadows over them, hardly coloring out the piercing blue, but adding a smoke that called out danger. High cheekbones that crowned the corners of a slightly parted mouth, a full lower lip and a clef in his squared chin that betrayed a firm jaw and absolute power. Clare felt her own heart skip a beat. And then he looked up at her.

"Ah, Clare is it not?" His voice was like velvet and Clare felt her knees go weak. Not only was she in the presence of the most beautiful man she had ever seen (and newly single to boot), he knew her name.

"Um, yes, yes sir, I'm Clare." She thought for certain that she must have sounded like a complete idiot as she stammered out an answer. She was actually amazed that she was able to descend the steps between the benches without tripping over her own feet.

"Wonderful, I am glad that you have arrived." He brought an arm up, the sleeve slipping away from his wrist to reveal a silver Tag Heuer watch, and long fingers capping large hands. Clare felt a little faint. "And right on time as well."

"I am? But where is everyone else?"

"There is no one else, just you, and me, of course." He grinned, curling up the left side of his smile a rakish sort of way. "I am Professor Northman. I've been asked to conduct a special class, just for you."

Clare choked a little on her own gasp.

"For me?" She squeaked out.

"You've impressed a number of important people here at the University. They felt my skills would be of benefit."

"Skills?" She heard her own voice getting higher, but couldn't stop it.

"In teaching, and bringing out the full potential of a student."

She had to sit down. The smile, the voice, the implications her broken heart was tossing over everything, it was all too much. But before she could even look for a suitable place to collapse, he was at her side, and his arms were around her back, holding her upright.

"Now don't fall Clare, we have a great many things to do this evening, and beginning the adventures with a concussion would not do at all."

"Adventures? I'm sorry, I'm very confused."

"Then let me show you." In an instant she was swept up into strong arms, feeling so light it was as if she was flying. Professor Northman carried her to the very back of the dais. "You know the stories about this building?"

"Some of them. I suppose."

"Well a good many of them are the fabrications of late nights and too much ale. But at the heart of every fantasy there is some truth." With a careful step, and pressure on a part of the floor paneling, Clare heard a click, and watched as a square of the worn hardwood sank out of sight, revealing a circular staircase.

"Let me carry you, it's dark, and rather steep."

"Sure, of course." Clare was beginning to wonder if everything was just a dream. There had been so much misery, and so many sleepless nights, maybe she'd just fallen asleep on the couch finally. His laugh was deep, and his grip strong, and she figured, if it was a dream that she might just as well enjoy it. So she curled her face into his neck, and breathed in the masculine scent of him; it was quite a vivid dream it seemed.

"You've heard the stories of how old Master's Hall is haven't you?" They reached the bottom of the staircase, and it was as dark as he had said.

She nodded.

"It has been here in some form or another for nearly a thousand years. Though I have only been privy to its secrets for the last one hundred." He set her on her feet carefully. "Allow me to illuminate things for you Clare."

With a gust of air whose origin she could not ascertain, the underground chamber sprang to light and life, revealing a wonder. Well, two wonders, Professor Northman, and the rich woven tapestries that lined the stone walls, making the room seem close, and warm. Proper torches sat in their brackets, unlike the replicas above them in the lecture hall. The crackling of wood directed her attention to an inset fireplace, though for the life of her she couldn't figure out how one could exist underground. But of course if this was a dream, and that was looking more and more likely, anything could happen.

"What is this place Professor Northman?"

"Call me Eric." She hadn't realized that he had come to her side again until she felt his breath as he whispered into her ear. She jumped a little, and again he laughed his deep, desperately sexual laugh. "It is a place of worship."

"What do they worship here?" She whispered in return, mesmerized by the artwork, and the sudden flush she was feeling.

"True passions." And she felt cool lips pressed to her neck. There was no suppressing the moan that escaped her throat.

"Oh yes, cry out, hold nothing back, it will only enhance our pleasures."


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who sent reviews for this little piece. Here are a few more words to tantalize you, especially you 'Clare'. I am humbled by your strength, and by the support that flows in our community.

It may seem a little fluffy, but I had to add in a bit of plot, didn't I?

Merick

"This place," He circled around her, keeping a hand on her waist, "was once a sacred grove. The elder wood that panels the walls here was harvested from that very spot. Every passing generation from that time on has maintained this space, taking it from that grove, to a wooden building, to a temple of stone, to the Master's Hall that you see now."

"I had no idea Eric." Clare heard her own voice as a dreamy state that the room seemed to require.

"Few do. It is not a tale that is shared amongst many."

"So why share it with me?"

"Because I requested it. And as the resident of this hall, it was my right."

"I'm very confused Eric." His smile was so indulgent she could not help but be manipulated by it.

"Come and sit," He pulled gently on her hip with his hand, guiding her at first into his chest, where they paused for a breath, and then around like a dance, towards a stone bench, perched in front of a grand tapestry.

"Are these Flemish?" Clare reached up to caress the fringe end of the weaving.

"This one is. The others, some of them Flemish, and some, much older. The images tell the story of this place, perhaps more effectively than I can." Long fingers caressed her face and turned her eyes to him. "Shall I tell you the story Clare?" Bright eyes, sparkling like blue topaz hypnotized her.

"Yes please." She whispered.

"But first, do not deny me a taste of you." And Eric leaned forward to her, brushing his lips against hers, parting them only slightly, pulling a breath from her throat, and with it, a great sigh. Clare thought that her dream could not possibly get any better.

"The first tapestry," His arm pointed to his right, the sleeve of the robe pulling back from his wrist as it had when she had seen him on the dais. "Is the oldest, an altar covering from the beginning of this place; rough woven with the images of the trees that protected the people and gave them power." She followed his direction to view the piece, the smallest, the darkest, infused with a primal nature that seemed to breathe with her.

"The second piece shows the arrival of the spirit beings, those denizens of the wood and water that came to the people, and gave them power." The scene was more polished, but nothing like the fine tapestry she was sitting beneath.

"What are they?"

"Fairies and Sprites, creatures of the earth, air and water. They were drawn to this place, just as the people were."

"As they still are?"

"Yes Clare, exactly. I knew you would understand all this. It is precisely why I chose you." He took another slow kiss from her mouth as if it was the most natural thing in the world just then.

"The third shows the intermingling of those spirits with the people. And the birth of the new creatures, part human, part divine, manifesting in animal shapes and otherworldly forms."

"Wolfmen?"

"They prefer Werewolves. But yes, and other shifting types of creatures who could take on the elements of nature herself."

"So curious." Clare felt drawn into the story of every tapestry, as if they were all familiar to her somehow.

"The next shows the other creatures that came to this place, to worship, and be worshipped. Those like me." Eric paused, and Clare could feel his closeness, the coolness of his fingertips brushing her arms, pushing her shirt sleeves upwards, as if he was tracing her pulse. She shivered.

"What are you?"

"I will show you, very soon Clare, I promise." And with that he turned her attention back to the remaining tapestries.

"They show the construction of this place. The mighty altar; also made from the elder and the sentinel stones, the fortifications that became this underground sanctuary, and the rise of the Master's Hall." Which was the one they sat beneath.

"Where is the altar now?"

"It is still here, and I would very much like to show it to you."

"Then you must lead on Eric." Her head was starting to swim, as if she was drunk, and she offered him her hand. He took it, and tugged gently to take her off across the room, to a doorway she had not previously seen, mostly because it was cleverly inset into the wood.

"Your secret lair?" She was getting into the mood of mystery and supernatural things. He laughed again.

"Of course it is." And he swung the door inwards, to reveal a smaller room, the focal piece of which was the altar that he had spoken of, that had been depicted in the tapestry, made out with furs atop it like some ancient sleeping pallet. She could not help but giggle as she saw it.

"This is the most marvelous dream. I hope that I remember it when I wake up."

"You aren't dreaming Clare." Eric stepped back from her, taking his touch from her for the first time since he lit the chambers.

"Of course I am. There really aren't hidden rooms under Master's Hall, and ancient tapestries and beautiful men waiting to sweep me off my feet. These kind of things don't happen in real life, certainly not to me."

"Oh but Clare, I assure you, this is all very real." And she watched as he shrugged out of his robes, letting them fall to a liquid-like puddle on the floor around his feet.

He was wearing black pants, well tailored, that sat low on his hips, and little else, which gave her a view of a sculpted torso, aquiline with muscles that showed shadows through marble skin, white, and flawless. Strong shoulders, tight thorax, a silhouette tapering down to a vee, still hidden, but hinting at so many delightful secrets. He toed off his shoes, kicking them to the side where they slid off into darkness. Clare couldn't even think of a coherent word, as an unbidden breath slipped from between her lips, and she felt her eyes go wide at the vision of him.

"You can't be real." She finally whispered as he approached her again. "What kind of spirit are you Eric?"

"A Vampire." He echoed her tone and smiled, letting his fangs drop.

"Oh hell." And his mouth was on hers again, as powerful hands grasped her forearms and pulled her forward to crush her body against his. He pulled away, his upper lip curled, hooded eyes looking down on her with barely controlled desire coloring his face.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Oh gods no Clare." She could almost convince herself that she saw his chest heaving.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I am going to lay you upon this altar, and worship with you, in the way such devotions were always meant to be expressed. And we will cry out together, and join ourselves in veneration of all that came before us, and those who will come after."


	3. Chapter 3

Well, it isn't a great work of literature, that's for certain. But if it serves to bring a smile then it has accomplished what it set out to do. Wonder who can identify the literary quotes they share?

Hope you enjoy it my friend.

Merick

Insistent hands found her shoulders and guided her backwards towards the altar, blue eyes locked with hers; not so much hypnotically, but powerfully. And Clare felt the fear of harm transforming into a totally different type of fear.

"You are wearing far too much right now Clare." He whispered as his hands took her laptop bag from her, and set it safely to the side, then grasped her by the waist, and hoisted her backwards so she suddenly sat upon the thin edge of the altar. She was tending towards agreeing with his assessment, especially as she stared at his beautiful chest, long neck and firm jaw. Clare was deliberately keeping her eyes above the equator, but it left her no shortage of excitement, especially as Eric began to undress her, parting her legs so that he could step between them to stand so close to her that she could feel the electricity building on his skin.

Buttons on her cotton shirt were laid open, starting at the bottom and working their way upwards. She felt herself catch a breath with each exposure, and not just because of the cool fingertips that caressed her abdomen as they proceeded. When the shirt was completely undone his hands slipped it from her shoulders accompanied by a little growl from his lips. Clare thanked the stars that she had worn a balconette bra that day, because she knew that it made her breasts look amazing, especially as she took the deep kind of breaths she was taking just then. Eric's grin seemed to bear out her personal observations.

"That's better." He leaned in to kiss her again, scooting her forward till he was nestled quite tightly and she could feel his arousal pressing against a most sensitive spot. He took the moan she cried out with the grinding of his lips against hers. There wasn't even a conscious thought as she wrapped her arms around his back, and pushed against him as hard as she could.

"Yes my Clare, that's it, give yourself over to absolute pleasure."

"That is a terrible reference for a Theology Professor." Clare referred to the source of his quote, a B grade at best, Cult Horror movie called The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

"Perhaps something like this then?" Eric continued to kiss at her jaw, winding up her neck to her ear where he began to whisper as his hands held her hips tightly, his own rocking against her.

"Oh my dove that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely. Take us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes. My Beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn my Beloved and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether."

"Much better." Clare's hands slipped down to his waist and began to tug at his tailored pants.

"Your turn." Eric worked on unhooking that balconette bra.

"Of course." She smiled, loving the sudden challenge, so much like their physical pursuits just then.

"The life so brief, the art so long in the learning, the attempt so hard, the conquest so sharp, the fearful joy that ever slips away so quickly - by all this I mean love, which so sorely astounds my feeling with its wondrous operation, that when I think upon it I scarce know whether I wake or sleep."

"Yes." He hissed as he exposed her and bent his neck to her, to take her breasts, one by one into his mouth to tease, hands holding her upright, and against escaping his desires.

It was fireworks as his mouth touched her, and shivers all over her body as his tongue did its wretched work, bringing her nipples to points, as rock hard as the rod in his pants that strained against her own desperation: she marveled in all that sensation even though they were both still half dressed. One or two brain cells, such as were devoted to that kind of thinking, wondered if she would survive a full on encounter if she had already surrendered her control to him for just this simple foreplay. Though, a third cell chimed in, there really was nothing simple about it. And just as quickly, all were redirected as she felt her jeans being yanked down as her torso was pushed backwards against the soft furs that covered the stone and wood altar.

"Gods, but you are beautiful." Eric said as he surveyed her exposure, "A most fitting tribute to this place, especially in the light of the flames."

"Then join with me." Clare replied, a husky desperation in her voice, her chest rising and falling in staccato pants.

"I intend to, most fully." He said with a grin. As his pants slipped from his hips and Clare saw him as wholly as he saw her, she was fairly certain that her heart stopped for a beat or two. Then he was on top of her.

Even though his skin was cool to the touch Clare thought that she had never felt so warm. The weight of him, crawling over her, pushing her backwards to lie completely supine on the altar was the most comfortable thing she had ever felt. And when his manhood, thick as it was, brushed over her legs and onto her belly she yelped. Eric laughed again. He let his mouth go to work, worshipping every inch of her skin, brushing his lips over the velvet of her breasts once again, and a hungry tongue over the pulse points in her neck. She arched upwards into him and heard his own muted moan. It gave her the strength to move her arms again, and to tangle them into his blond hair. And then she gave herself over to him, barely able to hang on.

His mouth moved swiftly from her chest to her abdomen to the very top of her mound, tongue darting out between the folds to catch her, not unawares, but unprepared for its speed and strength. Crying out, she arched against him again, and he encouraged her with further incursions that made her fingers and toes suddenly feel numb.

"I won't wait for you any longer Clare." Eric practically snarled as he slid his torso along hers. She felt his insistence against her, and then thrusting inside her, and they both cried out.

"Don't close your eyes Clare, this is the most incredible part."

It seemed like that might have been a bit of bragging on his part, (even though the feel of his body within hers was mind-blowing,) it wasn't exactly what he had meant with his entreaty. Opening her eyes she saw the colors beginning to swirl around them as they worked against each other, making their skin practically glow and bleeding off to surround them on the altar.

"The energy," he tried to explain, even as he kept up his pounding thrusts, "it grows from us, and feeds this place. Keeps the magic alive."

"Oh God." Was still all Clare could manage to say. And even that exclamation was choked.

"Come for me Clare and you will see even more wonder." It wasn't as if she had much choice, she had been wavering at the edge since he'd gone down on her, and the feel of his body was the gust she needed to go over. It was hard, (so many things were just then), but she forced her eyes to stay open as she released her wave, and felt his meet it. The lights grew to swirling eddies that touched them, and imparted their own warmth, making not only her body perspire, but his as well. His hands and mouth grew warm as they continued to explore her, even as his gentle rocking continued through the wave. The sting of his bite was nothing in the bliss they shared, without and within.

The suckling sound was soothing as Eric pulled away from her finally and she let limp arms fall back to her side, closing her eyes, robbed of all energy.

"We have to complete the circle." Was the whisper that tugged at her consciousness when all she wanted then was to sleep. Still warm arms pulled her body close to his, holding her safely as furs were pulled over them both.

"You have to take my blood as well." Clare wrinkled her nose.

"Don't worry Clare, it isn't like mortal blood, not at all."

"Will I become like you then?" Lazy eyes tried to meet his; their blue was still startling.

"No, not like me, but it will make me a part of you, even deeper so than the joining of our bodies has." He kissed her slowly and tenderly. "Now drink." Eric pressed her to his chest, and rent the skin there so that the blood began to well. It seemed the most natural thing to do just then, so Clare began at first to lap at the blood, and then to draw on the wound. His moans were musical, and she could feel his own hands go slack around her as she did it.

"More." He whispered, and she complied. Eric shivered, Clare could feel the motion run the length of him, and she could feel his member growing hard again as he ground it into her thigh. With a protracted, but gentle cry he came for her again, and only then did she feel it would be all right to stop.

Laying her head back down on his chest she let her consciousness wane finally, and felt his arms envelop her body again. A soft kiss on her forehead and whispered words took her into sleep.

"I will love you forever."


End file.
